


Undone

by agrafena



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, Insecurity, Jealousy, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-24
Updated: 2017-05-24
Packaged: 2018-11-04 06:49:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10985625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agrafena/pseuds/agrafena
Summary: O/C accepts Negan’s marriage proposal but is jealous and possessive. When Amber makes a comment, it almost sends her over the edge but Negan falls with her.





	Undone

**Author's Note:**

> This is my contribution for Ash's Writing Challenge. I chose the Mirror, Mirror prompt. I loved writing it. The question is, should I continue this or leave it as a one-shot? 
> 
> Enjoy!

I see the champagne flutes come together in unison, but the distinct clinking of glass and the laughter that follows is drowned out by the sound of my blood thumping between my ears. And before I can stop myself, I see my hand reaching out, latching onto the first thing I see – the back of a chair, as I try desperately to steady myself.

Funny how a few words could leave me feeling like all the energy had been zapped out of my body, as if I had run a marathon but was left panting miles before the finish line in defeat.

_Why am I like this? Why do I always do this to myself?_

My other hand grips the flute, filled to the rim – compliments of Tanya, yet I can’t bring myself to take a sip despite the voice inside me begging for courage, pleading for everything to go numb. Instead I stare into one of the many vanity mirrors lining the wall of the dressing room, looking at the reflection of someone who resembled me. The tanned skin, the ash brown hair, the bright hazel eyes, all just as I remembered, but there was a lack, a loss – something that wasn’t quite there anymore, something that not even a bit of blush or freshly painted lips could make up for.

And then there’s a giggle and my eyes find my compatriots, looking carefree as ever, toasting to another night where they can pretend the world outside these walls isn’t forsaken. They all looked so happy and flawless like those girls on magazine covers from long ago and I was horribly jealous of them all – Amber, so polished and a head of lush blonde hair, perfect for running his fingers through…Frankie, tall and graceful with creamy white thighs he no doubt spent many nights losing himself between…Tanya, all fire, sass and the award-winning smile that probably had him smiling back – and there I was, nothing more than the hollow replacement for the favorite, the one that had sparked him to life, the sweetest lamb…dear, old Sherry _honey_.

**Fuck**.

I guzzle half the champagne glass before I can stop myself. It tingles going down and warmth spreads throughout my chest, giving me a brief reprieve from the bitter jealousy hacking away at me as the feelings of inadequacy were busy kicking me while I was down. I had wanted him since I first laid eyes on that smug asshole all those months ago, but I wasn’t prepared for whatever _this_ feeling was, watching as he passed me without so much as a glance, watching as he plucked whatever woman he wanted out of the masses hungry for their meal ticket and watching as he seemed to favor every woman but me. And how many of my points were wasted on cold showers trying to forget the way this man made my body react, without ever touching me? Too many. And how often did I shield my flustered face from his inattentive eyes? Too often.

But, when he asked me to marry him seemingly out of the blue, I had tripped over my words trying to say yes without a care of how pitiful I looked. I didn’t stop to ask why me, why now and the fact that he had never looked at me or uttered a word to me faded into the recesses of my mind. I didn’t care that he didn’t know my name, I was beside myself at the idea that he felt anything for me, even if it was just raw, physical attraction. I had been confident, hell, I had felt sexy for once in I don’t know how long…only to find out he was just sad that his favorite toy had her brains blown out.

There goes the rest of the champagne.

Frankie’s eyes catch mine as I set the empty glass down on the vanity amidst a clutter of make-up and expensive looking perfume bottles. She raises her brow, posing a silent question: you okay?

_No_ , I think, but I’ll be damned before I admit it. I manage a curt nod but I know my poker face is shit because she makes her way over to me anyways, her long legs carrying her across the length of the room effortlessly, looking delicate and feminine in a little lace dress and strappy black sandals. I can’t help but look down at myself and a little voice inside my head starts saying all the horrible things I hoped the champagne temporarily would mute. What would he really want with _this_?

“She didn’t mean it like that,” Frankie explains lowly as we watch the other girls take pictures together on one of the sofas. “Amber doesn’t always think before she speaks.”

“Sure,” I say unconvincingly, crossing my arms as I leaned against the side of the vanity. I’m several inches shorter than her, even with heels, and though I wasn’t short by any means I still felt like a tree stump next to a great redwood.

She takes a seat in one of the empty chairs beside me. “It’s not like that,” she continues, her eyes looking me over carefully. “He’s not like that, even with everything that happened.”

“Thanks Frankie.” I say it to comfort her, I could tell she’s a good person – just trying to help. _Unlike you_ , a voice says, reminding me that I was jealous of everything, including a dead girl.

I open my mouth to say something, hoping that whatever small talk I can manage will make every passing minute less grueling, but whatever I say dies on my lips as the door whips open with a _whoosh_ , banging loudly against the wall. And just like that, everything comes to a screeching halt – the girls scramble to their feet, yanking their dresses into place, smoothing out their hair – someone even turns off the music and the room descends into a heavy silence.

There, in the threshold, stands Negan, his leather clad hand placed squarely in the center of the door, a mischievous glint in his eye with an up-to-no-good grin to match as he watches all of us. I find myself looking at him, trying to memorize every detail of his face, the bit of scruff lining his jaw, the crinkle around his lust-filled eyes – eyes that, when they meet mine, cause me to look away.

“Well,” he drawls as he strides into the room with Lucille in tow, swaying lightly by his side. “I had no idea I was interrupting girl’s night.”

He makes his way around the room, his sly gait resembles that of a predator toying with its prey and I can do nothing else but watch as he circles us. But then, something catches his eye and he stops momentarily to yank a stray polaroid off the couch. He examines it and, after a moment, a slow, infuriatingly perfect smile forms on his face. I imagine what sits between the borders of the tiny image. A coy Amber looking at the camera? A selfie of Tanya with her playful smile? Perhaps the both of them, laughing and enjoying themselves?

He holds the image up between his index and middle finger as he stops in front of Tanya, giving the photo a little shake and murmuring something that draws a smile out of her. My eyes find my reflection in the mirror beside me, my expression an almost comical rendition of the green-eyed monster from my beloved children’s book. How could something so innocent make me feel so small?

He tucks the photo into his pocket – a trophy for him, and he continues to make his way around. All at once, dread claws at my insides. Hadn’t I dreamed of the day he would look at me? That he would come to me? And now the very idea felt wrong, so wrong that I find myself lowering into the vanity chair, praying it would shield me though I know it won’t.

His eyes find Frankie first, and his fingers gently brush her red hair away from the pale skin of her neck, a moment I feel is too intimate for me to witness so I train my eyes on the floor. I stare hard at tips of my shoes and I try to calm my nerves. _I was in over my head_.

I start to mull over my options. Divorce? I couldn’t do this, not with this man, he’d fuck my brains out and I’d spend the rest of my life trying to pick up the mess left behind. I wasn’t desperate for points or anything, I had an okay job before this, I was only doing this to have him – and that was the problem. I couldn’t have him all to myself, could I? Not with Franke sitting pretty like that or Tanya-

I’m drawn out of my thoughts as I see a shadow form over me and a hand curling around my forearm.

“Sweetheart, you with us?” Negan asks, stopping mere inches from my face.  

Every overactive, impulsive thought coursing through my brain slows and even though he’s _right there_ it takes me a moment to realize he’s talking to me. I try to think of something to say but there’s only static between my ears – nothing comes. It’s too late, anyways, he’s already pulling back away from me, standing tall over my shrunken form.

He drops Lucille unceremoniously on the vanity table and the bottles rattle loudly in protest. “You were somewhere else, for a second there.” I watch him shrug out of the leather jacket, letting it fall on the back of the chair Frankie was sitting on. “But, judging by the white-knuckled grip you got on that poor skirt and that scary ass frown, I’d say it wasn’t anywhere cool. So doll, why the long fucking face?”

Somehow, I find words. “Never been one for parties,” I lie, my nails digging into my thighs. I know he knows that I’m full of shit, but I pray he doesn’t call me out.

Thankfully, he doesn’t and instead pulls the chair close and sits down, facing me, so that the only thing in my line of sight is him. He looks as he always does – confident, so much so that I sharply inhale and try to think of something else because I know if I spend one more second thinking of the slight curve of his lip, I’m going to lean forward and bite it.

“Maybe you can make an exception,” he begins, propping one elbow on his thigh, exposing some of his sun-worn tattoos that I just want to run my hands over. “After all, it is our wedding night.”

“Then what’s the bridal party doing here?” My tone is bitter as bile. I should be swooning, flirting…playful, those were things he probably liked. He didn’t want to deal with baggage…

If he’s annoyed, he doesn’t show it as he whistles and leans back in the seat, glancing around the room. I’m graced with a perfect view of Negan’s profile, the strong jaw, and a few stray strands of ink black hair that have fallen in his face after a long day of fucking over other survivors.

“Ladies…” his voice trails off and, needing no further explanation, the girls start gathering their things to head out. Amber has the gall to eyeball me as she walks past and her expression is confirmation enough that she said what she did on purpose, for no other reason than to hurt me. _Fuck you_ , I think as she walks past, her long hair swaying with her every step.

When she disappears out the door, I turn to find Negan staring at me.

“Holy shit, you’re fucking intense,” Negan quips, his eyes scanning my face slowly, stopping at my lips. “And – that, right there, that whole lip curl, twitching thing you keep doing…well, I can’t tell if you want to kill me or fuck me, love.”

“What if it’s both?” I offer boldly, tilting my head upwards. Now that we’re alone, I feel more at ease. I wonder if he knew, just looking at me, that I needed this – to be alone with him.

When he laughs, I find myself smiling too.  

“You know, I always knew you were a badass,” he says suddenly. “Scared the fuck out of us when we found you out there all by your lonesome.”

“You were there?” I try to hide my embarrassment, remembering how my introduction was a far cry from honorable. I want to say something like that person wasn’t really me or that I’ve changed for the better, but I’d be lying, I’ve been awful since day one.

His brows lift in amusement as he recalls the event. “You backhanded me, remember?”

_Well then_.

“Oh.”

 “Don’t worry, all is forgiven…and besides, it was cute as hell – impressive too.” He inches closer as he says it until the distance between us is negligible and I can see every line marring his skin, every freckle that tells me how much the man loves the sun, and the dark circles under his eyes serve as evidence for all the hard work he does for us.

And this time, when my hands reaches out, it’s not to steady myself but to cup his cheek in a silent apology. I try to imagine the back of my hand connecting with his firm cheek and I wonder how I could have missed all of him right in front of me like that. My fingers move across his strong jaw, the stubble pricking my twitching fingers as they hesitate to trace his lower lip. It’s a move that surprises us both but his eyes tell me he doesn’t mind the intrusion.

I slip into a place where I no longer care about whether he prefers Sherry or Amber or Tanya or Frankie because right now, I have him and I hope I can have him the way I want him. An image of him stretched out above me, both of us feverish and desperate, his thighs digging into mine…The thought sends a ripple throughout my body and I scoot closer in my seat.

When his tongue darts out to wet his lower lip, parts of myself that seemed to be wound so painfully tight come undone. My hand slips from his cheek, trailing down the side of his neck until my fingers reach the soft fabric of his signature white t-shirt. I fist the fabric tightly and my eyes find his, but I know by the look in his eye that we’re both going over the edge.

I’m not sure who moves first but our bodies make an ugly sound when we both hit the floor. Our chairs topple over ungracefully, Lucille gets bumped from her comfortable place atop the vanity and I lose a heel in the process but when his lips fold over mine, I know the painful bruises will be worth it.

He starts slow, his lips brushing against mine so tenderly I feel like he might not be real but a ghost taunting me instead. And because I can’t tell if it’s real, because I feel so dizzy and lost between his lips, I do what I’ve wanted to do since I first laid eyes on him – I bite that perfect lower lip, keeping him pinned in place, so that I taste him and soothe the hurting parts inside me, even if it’s brief.

Negan pulls back, a pretty little bite mark staining his lip and he smiles down at me.

“You and I…we’re going to have so much fun together, sweetheart.”

I believe him.


End file.
